


Tried and True (A Phoenix Rising Tale)

by badcircuit



Category: The Town (2010)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badcircuit/pseuds/badcircuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like several of the chapters of Phoenix Rising, this one was inspired by a question from missm0neypenny.  In this case the questions were “I wonder so much about Michael. What goes through his head? Where does he find the patience? Does he ever waver?”  So this isn’t a Phoenix Rising chapter proper but it had to be done. :)</p><p>A bit of Sara’s husband Michael’s side of the story.  Jem Coughlin is here, barely.  OBVIOUSLY THIS IS NOT A STAND-ALONE FIC.  Reading PR is a must and Mother's Day is recommended too.  Not beta’d so feel free to correct me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tried and True (A Phoenix Rising Tale)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missm0neypenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm0neypenny/gifts).



Sara’s buried under the kids.  Jamie, who wandered in just before dawn, is tucked under one arm, and Claire is draped across her chest after an early morning nursing session.  If anyone had told me seven years ago I’d be married to her, with two rug rats, a house and a minivan, I would have advised them to seek help. 

She kind of hated me in the beginning.

~

She started coming into my library branch every weekend.  Sometimes she’d browse the stacks or flip through a magazine but mostly she just sat in one of the chairs by a window overlooking the courtyard and stared out, sometimes for most of the day.

She was beautiful but I could tell she was a mess.  She was put together well enough on the outside:  neat hair and clothes and good hygiene, unlike several of our other regulars.  She didn’t rant or talk to herself.  She was there in body but the rest of her was a million miles away and she didn’t look happy about it.  I was never into riding to anyone’s rescue but there was something about her I couldn’t ignore.  And God help me, I tried.

I was alone on the reference desk late one Saturday afternoon when she came walking up.  The dark circles under her whiskey colored eyes made them look luminous.  “Something I can help you find?” I asked.

“I was going to ask you the same question, since you stare at me every time I come in here.”

I stammered, trying to come up with something professional but she cut me off.

“Stick with your books…” she leaned in a little closer to see the badge clipped to my shirt pocket and I caught a whiff of something spicy like nutmeg.  “…Michael.  It’s a lot safer.”

“Safe can be boring,” I said, before I could think better of it. 

She shook her head, turning and walking towards the exit.  “Safe and boring are underrated, book jockey.  Trust me on this.”

She stayed away for a month after that and then one day there she was again, lurking in the stacks where I was helping a patron, chewing her thumbnail and watching me with those desolate eyes. 

Once I was finished, I nodded once in her direction and headed back to the desk.

“What do you want?” she asked, stopping me in my tracks.

Turning back, I looked at her a moment before speaking.  I knew what she was asking, of course, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer.  _Time_ was what I wanted to say but she wasn’t ready to hear that.  She looked like a stray cat just then, hungry and desperate for contact, but terrified and deeply suspicious too.  I didn’t want to do anything to scare her off again.  “Coffee?” I said instead.

Her gaze raked over me and although her expression changed not one iota, it felt like she’d sized me up and found me lacking.  “Drinks.”

“Whatever you’d like,” I said.

Her mouth quirked up on one side just the tiniest amount.  “Meet me down at Jackie’s when you get off,” she said. 

When I got there, she was sitting in a dark corner just like I knew she would be, her chin on her fist, watching the rest of the clientele with bored contempt. 

“You know, I don’t even know your name,” I said, sitting down across from her.  I gestured at the glass with a couple of inches of something the same color as her eyes.  She was running her index finger around and around the rim.  “You didn’t have to wait for me to start drinking.”

She looked down at the glass, and I saw something on her face that made me sorry I’d said that.  “Oh, I don’t drink this.  I just…  It’s a thing I do.  And I haven’t decided if you should know my name yet, book jockey.” 

“Fair enough.  I’ll do what I can to sway you.”  I smiled at her and she rolled her eyes and called the waiter over to order two shots of tequila.  She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head when I ordered an IPA but there was a hint of a smile there. 

“So, what do you do, Miss No Name?”

She threw back a shot without flinching.  “I’m a paralegal.  For now, anyway.  They’re gonna fire me any day now.  I was hoping to quit first but I haven’t found anything yet.”

“You don’t sound very concerned.”

“I’m not.  I hate it.  Perfectly good waste of money and four years of my life.”  She downed the other shot and stared at me like she was hoping I’d say something to piss her off.

“Yeah, that sucks.  Any idea what you’d rather do?”

“Something that makes me happy.  I recently realized that life’s too short for bullshit.  Money’s nice but I just want to do something good that I like, maybe work with kids or animals or something.”  She was back to playing with the undrunk glass, cupping it between her hands, turning it around slowly.  

“What is that?” I asked, indicating the drink.  I had the feeling she was daring me to ask.

She scooped her thick, dark curls back and bent over the glass, sticking her nose in it and inhaling deeply.  She closed her eyes, giving a small shudder.  “Jameson.”  She sat back in the booth and looked me over again in that way that gave me a bit of a complex.  “You ask too many questions.  Here’s a question for you.  Are you trying to fuck me or what?”

“The thought may have crossed my mind.  I was hoping to get to know you first.”

“Oh my God.  You’re totally serious, aren’t you?” she asked with a snort.  She threw back her head and laughed, catching me completely off guard.  That was the exact moment I knew there was no turning back.

I didn’t answer.  I couldn’t stop looking at her.  When she laughed, her face transformed from pretty to breathtaking.  I didn’t want to fix her; I just wanted to be the one she chose to make it a little better.

“I’m gonna go now, before I do something we’ll both regret.  You’re sweet though, Michael.”  She reached over and stroked my cheek with one finger, then slid out of the booth and left, leaving me with the mysterious glass of untouched Jameson, a head full of questions, and a hard dick.

She avoided me for another week or so before she appeared at the circulation desk, letting everyone in line go ahead of her, saying she had a problem only I could solve.  When I beckoned her forward, she snapped her license down on the counter.  “I need a library card.”

I could feel the other circ staff watching us, waiting to see what I’d do about the rude, crazy bitch patron.  “Are you sure you don’t already have one?  Let’s check and see.”

“Sure, whatever,” she said, chewing her thumbnail. 

“Sara Forte... you do have an account.  The address we have is the same as on your license.  Is it current?”

“Yeah.  Do I owe something?”

“No, but if you’ve lost your card, a replacement is $5.”

“Never mind, I’ll check at home.”  She took her license back and left as suddenly as she’d appeared. 

I didn’t try to resist going to see her at all.  I went straight after work and only hesitated a second before pressing her buzzer.  She made me wait, of course; one of many little and not so little tests over the years.

She opened the door and strolled by me as if five minutes hadn’t passed.  “Took you long enough.  Let me guess, yours is the Camry?  Or maybe it’s this Buick thing.” 

“No, as a matter of fact it’s the Karmann Ghia.  Are we going somewhere?”

She hopped in without opening the door and smirked up at me.  “My place isn’t fit for company right now.  Take me for a ride.”

I drove around aimlessly while Sara reclined her seat a little and sat with her eyes closed, the tiny smile playing on her lips the only indication that she was enjoying herself.  My stomach loudly announced its displeasure with me for having rushed to see her while we waited at an intersection and she turned to me, her hair wild from the wind and half covering her face, and opened her eyes like a sleepy cat.  “Damn.  I’m hungry too though so I guess you can buy me dinner.”

I risked her wrath and laughed.  “You guess?  So generous.” 

She tried to glare at me but gave up and smiled.  I felt it like a punch.  “I am, aren’t I?”

It would have been easy to take her for pizza but I was feeling bold and she’d gone back to not paying any attention to where we were going.  When I parked in my driveway and killed the engine, she sat up and looked around before giving me a fierce look.  “Where’s the food?” she asked.

“My kitchen,” meeting her eyes.  It won’t take long and I’m a good cook.”

She glanced around, probably looking for the nearest bus stop or taxi, then threw herself back against the seat and huffed out a breath.  “You better be, book jockey.”

I bounded around to the passenger’s side and got the door open before she could climb over it.  She wrinkled her nose at my offered hand and got out on her own, giving me another one of those scathing looks.  “Try something stupid and I’ll hurt you,” she said.  

I had nearly a foot and at least 50 pounds on her.  “Noted.”  I turned to lead the way, hiding my grin. 

I left her in the living room to look over the shelves holding my hundreds of books while I whipped up omelets with leftover hamburger from the grill and some veggies.  I served them up with some thick slices of toasted French bread slathered with homemade herb butter and once we were seated at the table, I grated some Manchego cheese on each one.

Sara gave me a look and I set aside the grater and cheese with a shrug.  “Just trying to dress them up a little.  It was the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Right.”  She sniffed it then took a bite.  A few seconds later she dropped her fork and clapped a hand over her mouth, looking horrified.    

“You don’t like it.”  I rose, reaching for her plate.

She laughed and waved me back into my seat.  “I’m just messing with you.  It’s delicious but I burned my tongue.”  She stuck it out to fan it. 

She was definitely messing with me.  I felt like I was back in junior high again, smitten with the unattainable girl, watching her every move and being utterly captivated by the most mundane things. 

She mopped the plate with her last bite of bread, popped it in her mouth then licked her fingers clean.  “Got any ice cream in there?”

I collected our dirty dishes and deposited them in the sink for later.  “Only vanilla, I’m afraid.”

“Figures,” she snickered.

“You know what they say about judging a book by its cover, Sara.”  I winked at her and she rolled her eyes but she couldn’t contain her smile.

After straightening up, I sat on the opposite end of the couch where Sara was lounging, her feet up on the coffee table that was piled with books on landscaping and outdoor projects, patting her full belly.  “It’s not too late to kick my ass out.  Save yourself.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs saving,” I said mildly, staring pointedly at her feet until she put them on the floor. 

“Who says I want to be saved?”  She perked up and scooted close.

I fought to keep my expression neutral.  “You want to go?  Let me just get my keys—”

Sara slapped her hand on my chest to stop me from getting up, climbed into my lap and kissed me.  It was rough and awkward but that didn’t keep me from liking it.  When she reached for my belt, I stopped her.  “What’s the rush?”

She scoffed and hopped off me, going to stand in front of the bay window overlooking the street.  “Oh that’s right.  You want to ‘ _get to know me_ ,’” she sneered, air quoting viciously.   And then she started talking, telling me all about herself, the words trickling at first, and then pouring out, like she couldn’t shut them off.  Until she started talking about Jem Coughlin, and then her voice got thick and she stopped a couple of times to sniff or swallow.  At the end of it, she took a shaky breath and swiped at her face irritably before turning to face me.   “Happy now?”      

I wanted to go to her but she would have run off for sure, probably after kneeing me in the balls.  The hand she couldn’t see was white-knuckled from gripping the couch arm to keep me from going over there and scooping her up.  “Thanks for telling me that.”

She looked toward the door and shifted from one foot to the other.  “I don’t want to go, Michael.  But you should want me to.”

I shook my head and smiled.  “I work in a public library.  I don’t scare easily.”  I held out my hand and she took it this time.  We sat there a long while, just holding hands, and it was perfect. 

Sara let me into her life gradually, just like a stray cat with trust issues.  And like any cat, domestic or stray, she had her wild moments, but as a cat lover, I understood and accepted them. 

~

“Michael, quit daydreaming and help me out here.  I’m under siege.”

I take Claire, who lets loose a wet burp and snuggles into my shoulder as I settle against the headboard.

“What were you thinking about?  You’re looking pretty pleased with yourself.”  Sara straightens her nightgown, covering her lovely breasts, and reaches over to squeeze my knee.  “Oh yeah, happy anniversary, hot librarian.”

“Same to you.”  I cover her hand with mine, tangling my fingers with hers.  “Just thinking about us.”


End file.
